


Youth Knows No Pain

by invisibledeity



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Anal Sex, BDSM, Bondage, M/M, Objectification, Overstimulation, Possessiveness, Shibari, dom!prom, mild choking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-01
Updated: 2017-12-01
Packaged: 2019-02-09 04:45:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12880446
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/invisibledeity/pseuds/invisibledeity
Summary: A yandere Prompto x Male Reader imagine, because there are not enough Dom!Prom fics and the idea of him being possessive and rough beneath that sweet exterior is too delicious not to write.





	Youth Knows No Pain

You’re barely through the door when Prompto corners you in the hallway. Jacket half-shrugged off but he doesn’t care, he uses the awkward position your arms are in to leverage you backward. He’s no taller than you, but he has muscle where you don’t, and it’s not hard for him to push you up against the wall.

            ‘Not bad for an opening night, huh, babe?’ His voice is low, sensual. It’s such a stark contrast to the cheery, perky tone he’d used when waving off the cab driver. Inside the apartment, different rules apply. He grinds against you, blond hair a dusky gold in the hallway lamplight, hands tugging at your collar, pulling your tie loose.

            ‘All thanks to your photos.’ Your reply is tempered by the hitching of your breath, and you’re trying to pay him a compliment, but he’s come on so strong that you’re finding it hard to focus. The way he manhandles you … god, how it turns you on. He’s all up in your personal space, and you have little room to manoeuvre, not that you’d want to. One look at that perfect freckled face - his boyish eyes, his high cheekbones, his fine jawline that draws down to narrow chin - and you wonder. How is he so soft and severe at the same time? ‘You did so good,’ you murmur, throat choking up a little as he fiddles with your shirt buttons. ‘You’re such a good artist…’

            Usually Prompto melts with praise. But now that he has you alone, his intent overrides his appreciation. And so you smile, raising an eyebrow suggestively, daring him to grind against you harder. He doesn’t do so immediately; instead his sky blue eyes challenge yours. His hands, still firm on your body, have grown eerily still.

            ‘The girls at that party couldn’t stop making eyes at you.’ Fingers tremble on your silken shirt, making it feel almost ticklish against your skin. The air feels expectant, almost dangerous. He looks so serious when he dips his head closer to you and says, ‘They can’t have you, though. You’re all mine, and …’ He pushes up closer against you, hips crashing into yours. ‘Tonight I’m gonna prove it.’

            ‘Oh yeah?’ You’re teasing, but he isn’t smiling.

            ‘Yeah. As many times as it takes.’ There’s so much tension beneath his skin, and when his eyebrows narrow like that he looks almost feral.

            ‘Hah! Are you jea-’ You start to say, but his hand leaves your collar, slides up to your neck, encircling, pressing, depriving your lungs of breath. You barely have time to complain; only a choked-up noise escapes. You can feel your eyes grow wide with the sudden pressure, your nostrils flaring when he doesn’t let go, your hands scrabbling. There’s limited range of movement, with your jacket still half shrugged-off, but you can reach far enough to tap, tap, tap on his arm, and he lets go momentarily - just enough to let you catch your breath. He then grips your wrist with his free hand, holds you fast while his other returns to its position round your neck. You’re wild and frenzied for a moment, then you concede, give in, fall slack. A satisfied smile - _god_ , how is he so damn cute when he’s being so possessive like this? - and he relaxes his grip.

            ‘You’re so handsome,’ he whispers, his lips grazing your ear. ‘So fucking _hot_ … and all mine.’

            When he catches sight of your arousal peaking through your pants, he grins. Playfully, wryly. Possessively.

            ‘C’m’ere,’ he says, and he grabs your tie, pulls you into the bedroom.

            You’ve still not been given the time to fully remove your suit jacket but it doesn’t look like he cares.

            Prompto all but throws you onto the bed, and when you move to undress, he gives you a fierce look that stops you in your tracks. He pushes you back, a hand almost carelessly upon your breastbone, and utters ‘Stay,’ like he’s talking to a dog. So you watch him while he stands, hands on his hips, wondering what to do with you as he scans the wardrobe. His eyes settle on something at length, and a playful smile spreads across his face.

            ‘Yeah, that’ll do real good.’ He turns to you, one foot tapping idly, almost impatiently. The way he looks, the way he stands, he’s like the lead man in some rock band, demanding the audience give him proper attention. ‘So, this is how it’s gonna go. I’m thinking…’ - and here he approaches the bed, and all but jumps upon you, knees either side of your thighs, slender hands cupping your face - ‘I’m thinking I get you all tied up … and then I show you who’s boss.’

            You suddenly feel anchored to the mattress in anticipation. You stretch your neck upward, and you beg.

            ‘Please … please do.’

            His eyes sparkle in delight.

            ‘Oh, baby, shut your mouth.’ He kisses you firmly, then in one swift movement he tugs the tie from you entirely and forces it between your teeth. He ties it tight at the nape of your neck. ‘How’s that, now?’

            You try to answer him. Nothing but a muffled _‘mmpf’_ comes out, and so you settle for making a quiet, acquiescent hum.

            ‘You know I love those sounds you make,’ Prompto croons, and his hands travel softly over your upper body. You melt into the touch. He’s an angel - _your_ angel - and you’ll let him take whatever he wants.

            He grins, musses your hair, then leaps back to the wardrobe. When he returns with a length of rope in hand, you feel your heart rate increase.

            The rope is red, and it looks so soft and luxurious. The hairs on your neck bristle as you imagine how it will feel on your skin.

            Prompto tugs apart the knot, unfurls it like he’s handling a guitar lead, and grins at you; a nymph, a satyr, an innocent devil ready to take to the stage.

            You try to move up, to reach him, to kiss him, and he pins you back down.

            He’s too strong.

            You want to play, though, so you struggle, you try again to reach up for a kiss, a touch, a tender moment, and he responds by handling you harder, holding you down while he nimbly ties the rope around your body. He moves fast, all but ripping your shirt open to expose your chest, and soon he has your arms secured tight behind you. The rope forms a harness above and below your pecs, and he hasn’t bothered to remove your shirt completely. The sleeves still cling to your forearms. Your state of semi-undress is incredibly arousing, and you desperately want him to move down lower, to free your growing erection. You look up at him with pleading eyes, and you wriggle a little.

            He considers.

            ‘No, you know what? You’ve still got _way_ too much leeway.’ He flips you over to your front for a moment and pulls the long length of your tie that hangs now at the nape of your neck. A soft yank and your head is pulled back. He hums to himself as he ties it to the knots that secure your arms.

            When he pulls you back upright, your head is stretched so far back it’s hard to look directly at him.

            ‘Aw, is it uncomfortable?’

            You can’t nod to say yes. He keeps one hand at your back, clasped against your fingers, so you can tap out if you really need to. But you don’t, and he laughs lightly. ‘Too bad. I think you look way more artistic this way.’ He moves his fingers together as though framing a shot. ‘Yeah. Love this look on you.’

            You pant through the gag now. Your eyes are wild, and you know it’s exciting him. One more wriggle, to test the bonds. A few millimetres of give either side. No more, no less.

            You’re not getting out in a hurry.

            Prompto leans in close until you can feel his hot breath on your skin, and he traces your muscles through the rope. ‘All for me,’ he says. ‘All _mine_.’

            And in an abrupt turn, he flips you back over so you’re face down into the mattress, your ass raised. Without the use of your arms to steady yourself, all your weight is put on your front. It’s awkward, but then, that’s the point. Prompto chuckles in self-satisfaction, stroking a hand down your back, travelling over ruched-up fabric and rope and your trussed-up arms, before finally unbuckling your pants and pulling them down to your knees. He cups your ass cheeks, and his hands are warm and so _wanting_. You hum in acquiescence, even when he grabs just a little too hard. He’s breathing quicker, and it thrills you, just how eager he is, just how much you turn him on.

            Your face is buried in the bedcovers, so all you can do is listen out as a bottle cap is popped, as the mattress shifts beneath you. Then a finger, introduced softly at first, stretching your ass, lubing it up, and he lets you squirm for a moment. Then he crooks his finger upward, finds your prostate, hits it mercilessly. Another short, satisfied chuckle as this makes you cry out.

            Now you hear a zip, a sigh, and the slick sound of pumping as he readies his cock.

            You want to look. It’s hard to turn with your head pulled back, with the tie fastened to your arm harness, but you try anyway.

            ‘No, baby, do as you’re told.’ Prompto pushes you softly back down. Now he lines himself up, pressing flush against your cheeks. He eases the tip in, and you feel your hole stretch, almost uncomfortably at first, with the girth.

            With an indulgent moan, Prompto begins to thrust into you, so slowly, so powerfully, all that tension held in his tight, lithe body coursing into you. It sets a shiver throughout your entire body and you cry out into the fabric shoved between your teeth. He pushes your head down into the mattress, angles himself so he hits your prostate again, and he repeats the pattern.

            When you think you can’t take any more, he pushes on. When you feel your limbs shake and your muscles strain, he keeps thrusting. ‘Aw, yeah, baby,’ he croons repeatedly, and he calls you _his_ , his property, his whore, his _plaything_. Hearing such dirty, degrading things spill from his sweet lips makes you arch into his touch all the more. You would agree, you would say _yes, use me,_ if only you were not gagged.

            Your moaning reaches a peak when he grabs your haunches and pulls you back onto his cock while he thrusts, slamming it ever deeper. You almost try to shy away from it, it’s so intense. And this really sets Prompto off; you can feel it in the way he shudders. He’s close.

            ‘I don’t think you get it,’ he gets out between ragged breaths. ‘You. Belong. To. _Me._ ’ Each word is punctuated by a thrust, and by now you’re not sure it’s possible to feel any more on edge, but he proves you wrong again and again. A harried cry escapes your muffled mouth and it’s so raw that you feel Prompto tense up inside you. His motions turn furious with energy and he slams into you one final time. The height of his orgasm is a delicate, broken cry, and he all but collapses over your restrained back, cock still buried deep in your ass. It twitches in the tingling aftermath, and you can’t take it any more. You whine and shudder, and eventually he calms his breathing, pulls out.

            A shift in the mattress as Prompto rises, and he’s more lethargic than his usual sprightly self now, all heady and spent. ‘Oh … oh man …’ You let your head fall as much as it can to the side, and watch him attempt to stand. He’s looking at you, eyes all glazed. ‘Man, you’re _such_ a good fuck.’

            Your only response is a muffled mumbling, and he laughs. The spark comes back into his eyes. Then he continues on, heads to the bathroom to clean himself up.

            Tap water. Sounds of drying. Your ass is getting cold. The rope feels so good against your skin, so goddamn _tight_.

            When Prompto returns, he rests back on one leg and gazes down upon you wryly.

            ‘Could always just leave you here…’

            You whimper through the gag.

            ‘Ohh.’ His lips purse downward. He’s pitying you. And god, it makes you flush. ‘Poor puppy doesn’t wanna be left alone, huh?’

            He flips you over onto your back, with the briefest of checks to ensure your arms have not gone dead. And he leans over you, admiring your exhausted face.

            Prompto looks exhausted too, but by the Six, he’s never looked more beautiful than he does right now. You know, in this one moment where he owns you so completely, that he would do anything for you.

            And so, it’s no surprise when he starts to stroke your hard length, nimble fingers applying pressure in myriad ways. His touch is _electric._

            ‘C’mon and be a good boy for me. I wanna see you unravel at my hands,’ he says, and you let out a moan. ‘Yeah… You’re mine.’

            You’ve been brought so close to the edge already while he fucked you that now, it takes you an embarrassingly short time to come. It builds up like a wave, it’s tremendous, terrifying, and so, so fucking _good_ that when Prompto whispers ‘You’re gonna come for me,’ you can’t hold it back any longer. You yell into the gag and buck upward violently as he jerks you hard, decorating yourself with your own hot come.

            ‘How does that feel?’ A coy gaze, a tantalising flick of the finger across the head of your spent cock. _Too much_. You’re hypersensitive and he knows it well. You utter your denial through tight fabric. He teases your length one last torturous time, then the boyish grin returns to his face. He leans down and kisses you, lips full against yours, pressing in, sucking, almost biting.

            You’re utterly breathless by the time he’s done with you.

            ‘I love seeing the evidence of what I’ve made you do,’ Prompto murmurs, tracing a finger around the mess you’ve made of yourself.

            The next five minutes are spent carefully unravelling the rope harness from round your body. Every movement of Prompto’s fingers betrays his care for you. Once you’re untied, ungagged and cleaned up, he curls onto the bed beside you, spooning you, pressing soft kisses into the velvety skin behind your ears.

            ‘Gods.’ You breath out, relaxed and heady and so deliciously comfortable. ‘That was so good.’

            He’s still fussing you, although much more lazily now. All that lithe and wired-up energy spent, he returns to the gentle, affectionate lover everyone else must assume he is. ‘ _You_ were so good,’ he corrects you, sliding a hand up over your chest.

            You play with his thumb idly. ‘Any time you want,’ you say.

            ‘Babe, you’re the one for me,’ Prompto murmurs, and despite the styling product, his hair feels so soft when he buries his head into your back, snuggling between your shoulder blades. You’re satisfied you’ve made him so happy, so _complete._ Seriously, you wonder if it can ever get better than this. The two of you lie together, cocks flaccid and softly pulsing, as sleep claims you. There’s no rush - nowhere to be tomorrow, and who’s to say he’s not going to feel the urge to claim you _again_ later on?


End file.
